Brain And Heart Blood And Soul
by bite-or-avoid
Summary: My first fanfic. More like a ficlet, really. Dual fandom: Bones and Angel/BtVS


**This is my first fanfic. Dual fandom: Bones and Angel/BtVS. Reviews would be much appreciated!!!**

**Disclaimer:** Alas, none of them are mine.

**Brain and Heart; Blood and Soul**

i.

_Bones, just, take the brain, okay, put it in neutral. Take the heart – pop it into overdrive._

Seeley Booth knows many things. He knows cars. He knows sports. He knows the hard planes of a gun, its cold weight an extension of his hand. He knows people, can read their expressions and subtle cues as if they were brands on skin.

He knows Bones.

He knows Bones the way she knows bones, cataloguing every niche and nuance, extrapolating a story from what she sees. That's what he does, with her; catalogues every nuance, every arched brow and quirked lip, and extrapolates the words she can never bring herself to tell him. He makes blanket statements like _someday_ and _everything happens eventually_, and he waits for her to believe him.

He waits for her to believe.

She has always had a steep learning curve, and he uses that to counteract her stubborn refusal to see what is three feet in front of her face. But, sometimes, she shocks him. Sometimes she listens, heart and brain both, and reads him the same way she reads bones and he reads her.

Sometimes, it's more than even he can handle.

Still, he almost never second guesses himself, because she's trying and yet another thing he knows is that it can't be easy for her. He's there, waiting. He always will be. He conveys this fact (because she always needs tangible proof before conceding a point) with a steady hand on her back and guy hugs that are anything but. And he waits.

He _almost never_ second guesses himself. But sometimes he wonders just how long he's been idling at her doorstep. Wonders if he's doing them both a disservice by revving that engine and staying in place, instead of just releasing the damn parking brake already.

Wonders if one day, she'll just pop into fifth gear and pass him on by.

Wonders if she already has.

ii.

As the jaws of the giant beast he was so eager to slay sink into his flesh, he thinks of _her._

It hasn't been that long since he's thought of her anyway (it never is), but it's been a while since it happened in the heat of battle. And he's not really sure why it happens now, except that maybe it suddenly strikes him how pissed she would be that _she _didn't get to have it out with the dragon.

Assuming of course, that at this point, she'd care at all.

He kind of assumes that she _would_ care, despite all the mistrust and the release from Slayerly duty and the partying with the Immortal. Maybe _hopes_ is more like it.

But, either way, her blood is still inside of him and it gives him strength now when he needs it most. The sword in his free arm finds its target and strikes, swift and true. The beast howls out in anguish, blood spurting from its ruined eye, and he manages to snatch away the arm that had been clasped in its jaws. Blood from the damaged appendage drips down onto the cracked cement, mingling with the rain.

His blood, with a touch of hers.

He wonders what role, if any, duty and destiny still play in her life. They don't drive her existence the way they do his, but deep down he knows that she could never completely abandon all of herself to a normal life. Not the way _he_ abandoned her.

Although his soul never really let go. Never really will.

The beast lunges at him again, its gaping maw inches from his head. He rolls beneath it, thrusts the trusty sword upwards without looking. The thing utters a shriek that shatters glass as blood gushes in rivers of crimson from its torn neck, and he rolls away again as it collapses in erratic spasm. Brushing the rain from his eyes, he looks out toward the demon army. There is still work to be done, and he moves forward with intent.

A shrill whistle slices the air, even over the sounds of battle. Spike hears it too, and turns as a demon's body slides from his sword like butter from a knife.

The vampires look out into the distance, vision obscured by the weeping from the skies. Another army approaches from the East. But there are no demon soldiers to be found there. Only girls, warrior goddesses awash in power.

Sheleads the charge, as always. And even from this distance, he can see her green eyes flashing, can hear the unspoken words.

_I can't believe you didn't call. You may be old as the hills, but you're still an idiot._

And he grins, because he can't help but feel his soul stir at the realization that she still cares enough to be here.

He feels her beside him when he grapples with the next demon. His arm is still bleeding, and the scarlet streams down the creature's face as he grasps its head and twists.

He looks at his bloodied hands, then at Buffy.

His blood. His soul. Still hers.


End file.
